Why Birthdays Suck

Before you get all huffy about my post’s title, calm down. Breathe deeply and visit your happy place. Okay, this isn’t all about you. Shocking, probably, but true. Your first hint was the fact that you’re on my blog site. The second is the opening explanation. PSA: today is not my birthday, and no I’m not telling you when it is. We are within artillery range of it, though.

The opening explanation would be that this post is most specifically about my birthdays. They suck, and while I’m okay with that, what I do have an issue with is that for 40-odd consecutive birthdays in a row everyone around me insists on making a big fucking deal out of it. I guess I could lop some years off that figure since as a dumbassed little kid I was won over by the presents. Oh, and the cake, which Mom expertly baked upon request. Mmm… cake.

I’d also caution you against assuming that I’m one of those types that freaks out about getting older. I’m not. After a ‘cute’ phase, I enjoyed something close to an ‘appearance doesn not make one vomit’ phase. Somewhere in my early 20’s things just slid downhill from there, so I’m well adjusted to the fact shit will simply not improve here anymore.

To be quite honest, I truly dislike being the object of everyone’s attention, like when you’re sitting there surrounded by presents and a flaming chocolate cake and your audience is sort of waiting for you to either say something profound, wet your pants in extacy, or perhaps pass out from the heady rush of the moment. I don’t get it, because it’s one of those “You are unique and special … just like everybody else” moments. Besides, in spite of the carefully-researched list of books I normally provide upon request for shopping ideas, things like socks and underwear always managed to sneak in there. Dammit.

The thing about birthdays I understand the least is the entire fucking point of them, which seems to be the marking of yet another revolution about the Sun. As if I had a clear hand in making that shit come off successfully. Instead of a hyper-perky, caffienated-cheerleader-esqe “Happy Birthday!” I’d love to hear something like these phrases instead, which are more appropriate:

“So, you managed to not die yet. Good job, fucktard.”

“Yeah, 42 laps so far. Wow. Bet you have no idea when this race is over though, do you?”

All that of course assuming I have to hear anything at all. Ideally the best way in my world to put up with a birthday would be to hear absolutely nothing at all. And yeah, I know: I’m a cranky dickhead.

Well, it’s not all about THEM because we know it’s all about ME.. but anyhoo. I will paint a birthday picture you might enjoy…
Brainrants with a beer in one hand and a plate of bacon in the other enjoying the view of 5-7 naked girls (with excessively large boobies)dancing specifically for his pleasure, followed by a paintball gun being handed to him so he can inflict pain on the row of fucktards lined up for him. You might enjoy birthdays then…

I think in all probability, if by some chance I invented a time machine, one of the first things I would do is travel back in time and stop the mofo who wrote the happy birthday song from ever putting pen to paper, or at least slap the parents very hard. Worst song. Ever.

Hey cranky dickhead…I don’t see what all the hullabaloo is all about either. I have friends who celebrate for a month and don’t understand why I don’t want to do anything.n maybe it’s because no one else makes a big deal out of it anyway. Maybe if someone would I would be more inclined to care.

And I hate it when all the restaurant staff fake cheery sing their own version of the happy birthday song. Like anyone else in the place wants their quiet conversations interrupted.
Hey, Hallmark should hire you as a card message writer!

I think birthdays are a day to celebrate – after all it’s the anniversary of the day yu are born. People should celebrate you are in the world! Unfortunately, I am paired with a husband who thinks birthdays are just another day in the grand scheme of things, so he oftentimes undercelebrates my birthday. This year he forgot my birthday! Talk about under-celebrating!

Try a birthday right next to Christmas. You know, when you’re finally out on your own with friends, and they’re not around ’cause they headed off for Christmas? Lotsa fun!
As for the shooting gallery, I’d suggest a nice PPSH41. 100-round magazine – less time needed for reloading! Unless you just want an M134 and completely forget about aiming…..

Yeah – that my mental Victrola skipped a groove! OOPS!!! I think it was early versions of the Thompson that had 100-round mags. Got my guns crossed – never a good situation. Thanks for keeping me honest!😀

I have a friend who is obsessed over birthdays. She was the one counting down to mine, not me. It’s just another day! A point of no return. When you have reached a certain age, you can’t do things anymore being younger. (As usual, a chaotic description…) And the presents you might get, can be disasters and still you have to look happy…
It aren’t terrible days, but you put it right: there is no real point. Except for the cake part.

I think birthdays become more and more embarrassing and expensive every year. I find that the people who over-celebrate my birthday are usually the ones trying to manipulate me into the worst crap… or pay me less.

I completely agree! birthdays usually suck. its a whole big deal out of nothing, its usually just a way for people to say “they care” well if they fucking cared then they would make a production out of one day a year about it. it doesnt matter, its not a big deal, in fact its probably a bigger fucking deal about it to your mom because she had to push a fat head out of her vag.

It is my own 42nd birthday in a week’s time. Already my guts is filled with dread, because I HATE my fucking birthday. Googled that phrase and lighted upon your rant. I agree almost completely. Only thing is, at my age I’ve learned to appreciate socks and jocks as presents. In fact they are the only thing you can pretty much guarantee I’ll appreciate. I can actually put them to use, unlike shirts which don’t fit, DVDs I already own, clothing items identical to what was given the last year, novelty coffee mugs, and so forth. Nevertheless I agree wholeheartedly with everything else: I cannot stand being the centre of attention, feigning happiness, pretending to like the shit I am given in order to spare the giver’s feelings – thereby suppressing my own feelings, causing much angst. Want to give me what I really want? Then just leave me the fuck ALONE!

Finally someone knows where I’m coming from! I hate my birthday and I’m only 14. I’ve hated birthdays since I was 8, because my mum FORCED me to have a birthday party when I didn’t want one. I’ve had to endure tons of birthdays and disgusting birthday cakes that doesn’t taste as good as normal cakes. Then people wonder why a girl called me fat in year 4… Whoever thinks celebrating birthdays is a good idea needs to go to a mental institute!